


To the Fallen

by sake_neko



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 黄金魂 | Saint Seiya: Soul of Gold
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sake_neko/pseuds/sake_neko
Summary: Battles have the fallen.
Relationships: Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Justice was done. The goddess returned to Sanctuary. Balance has been restored.

Athena bade each of her Saints well, blessing them in life and death. Congratulating them on their bravery, forgiving them for their errors, thanking them for their service.

On her command—correction, Mu had gently reiterated—request, she wished for the respectful and prompt burial of her fallen. A rite she would oversee when preparations were met. The Gold Saints bowed and confirmed their allegiance, each designating themselves to their duties. Two to care for Saga and Aphrodite, one to investigate Star Hill, one to heal the wounded Silvers and Bronzes. The clanking of metal boots and plating clattered in the chamber, the grand doors shutting away the midnight breeze.

All but one. The one who remained on his knee, his head bowed, his eyes lowered. Saori tilted the grip on her scepter.

“If I may have the permission to speak, Milady.”

Saori nodded. Then, realizing the man would not meet her gaze, she permitted it aloud.

“The temple of Aquarius remains frozen in sub zero temperatures. Removing its protector in its current state would be perilous. If I may, I ask for Milady’s assistance in this endeavor.”

She smiled. “Anything for my Saints.”

“I thank you. Then, let us proceed, Milady.”

As she descended from the goddess’s throne, Saori felt pain shoot into her chest. A subtle distortion of cosmo. Not from her own, she was quick to note. From this Gold Saint.

She kept her gait steady, her fist clenched around her scepter. As the living incarnation of a goddess, it was her divine nature that allowed her to sense other people’s emotions. An inkling of their true selves. Everyone has parts of themselves that they wished to hide. Few felt comfortable to show it to the world. It took many years of practice for her to not pry and only inquire when necessary. Her duty is to be gracious, to love and protect humanity’s nature.

Therefore, when the Gold Saint rose to his feet, Saori chose to observe rather than question the slightest tremble of his fingertips. She steeled herself against the shattering sensation in her chest as she looped her arm around his offered elbow. A lone, sharp inhale from him as they descended the flight of stairs through the temples; a brief respite to pay modest respects to Aphrodite.

The closer they were to the Aquarius Temple, the more clenched his jaw appeared. He towered over her sight, yet she could feel his eyes burning straight towards their objective. His steps never wavered. He would have ran, if not for decorum. She believed it to be so. The Gold Saint’s passion suggested as much.

Yet within that inner inferno was a crushing pressure. One she knew too well from Saga’s suicide earlier that night. Such force… 

Gently, Saori slipped her arm away. The Gold Saint whirled, his cape brushing her fingers. Again, he knelt before her, his head bowed.

“What ails you, Milady?”

She breathed deeply. 

“You are Scorpio Milo, correct?”

“Indeed.”

“Milo, please raise your head.“

He obeyed, their eyes meeting for the first time. Saori smiled. His gaze was so forthright and resolute. Perhaps there were few who could sense what dwells within those blue eyes. Maybe one man could. But now...

“I can purify the temple by myself. I do not require an escort.”

“I am not one to question your powers, Milady.”

“You have already done so much. Please rest for the night. You must be tired.“

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.”

“I will not rest until this last service has been done. Should you order it, I  _ refuse _ to obey.”

Words that growled out of his throat. Predictable response. Even so...

Saori laid her scepter on the step and knelt to Milo’s level. She cupped her hands on his cheeks before embracing him. At once, she felt the pain slacken around their hearts.

“Then, please do not hide your tears from him. He would’ve wanted to see them too.”

_ How you really feel for him. _

Milo’s shoulders shook. His fingers quivered. Yet he did not protest when she offered him her hand. Once she lifted her scepter, they resumed hand and hand inside the Aquarius Temple. Chilled white tiles melted with each of her steps. The clacking of her heels changed their tune. First against ice, then against stone. Her scepter thumped, his metal boots clanked at a steady pace.

Toward the fallen Gold Saint.

From Hyoga, she knew this one’s name. No need to ask what danced on Milo’s lips.

“Camus, thank you so much for teaching Hyoga. He has grown so much, and we are grateful for the brave Saint you have raised. Please keep watching over us.”

As she touched Camus’s outstretched shoulder, his body revealed its true colors. Pale skin, light blue hair, golden armor. He regained some warmth, enough to safely move him from the ground. An illusion that would not last the night. Saori wept at that thought.

The final wave of her healing signaled Milo bowing down. With catlike grace, Milo flipped Camus over and cradled him by the shoulders. Blue hair crushed against Milo’s chest. He held for a beat, as if daring Camus to breathe through wishes alone. His violet hair shadowed his face from her sight. 

“Camus...”

Milo brushed the side of Camus’s cheek with the back of his hand. Tenderly. A simple gesture that granted warmth to her heart. Saori smiled through her tears, the levity a welcome wedge in the waves of grief. 

In a single breath, Milo carried Camus and stood upright. The blue haired one’s head leaned against Milo, his limber legs and back supported by strong hands. Perhaps it was an embrace Aquarius would have welcomed. She wouldn’t know.

Yet she sensed no regrets from Scorpio’s cosmo. Instead, a fierce fire. Something beyond the grief. Pride? Passion? It wasn’t quite known to her.

“I thank you for your assistance, Milady.”

She stood and spoke.

“Milo.”

He paused.

“Please remember what I said.”

Another sharp inhale.

“...I thank you, Athena.”

His cape fluttered with his renewed exit. Saori stayed in place, watching them until the golden sparkles faded into the night. Confident that her wishes would be respected.

For she sensed in Milo’s cosmo the confessions left unspoken.


	2. Chapter 2

“Fool. You.. fool.“

Jaheim, the chamber of ice. The lone post Surt assigned to him. Far from the soldiers and frontlines. Not immune to the clashing of many cosmo.

Three stars flashed, brimmed with divine power. Challenging the heavens before scorching the earth. Yggdrasil rumbled and cracked. One cosmo flickered. Flared. Vanished. 

Seconds later, heat swirled around his legs. His cosmo ignited within his chest, tingling to the top of his head. What was stolen had been returned. Pulsed like ripples on a lake. Quick at first, then slow. He opened his eyes to his true strength.

And to the reality of what occurred.

Camus sighed.

“Milo…”

It had to have been him. Only he would be that reckless in his second chance at life. Anything besides his first existence was a paltry delay. Death should be absolute. Milo was that sort of man. He had always been that way. Saints were prepared and proud to fall in battle. 

Rational parts of his mind echoed as such, their refrain swallowed by the constrictions of his throat. The stinging of his eyes. The chilling of his forehead.

Questions trickled in. Did his injuries get the better of him? Did his Cloth protect him well? Did he suffer in the end? 

Did he die alone?

Camus shut his eyes. He had lost friends before, killed before, and he withstood the shock that brought others to their knees. Tears may overpower him, but he would not shatter. Could not afford to as a Gold Saint.

Yet it had been years since he last shivered in the cold. Dullness rocked the pit of his stomach. His nails dug into his bare arms, criss-crossing over the aching in his chest. 

He forced air into his lungs.

_So, this is how it feels to be left behind._

An experience he’d put Milo through twice already.

Knowing what he felt at this instant, his tongue numbed. Yes, it was a fight. A necessity. To warn Milo of the barrier. To stop him from throwing his life away without a God Cloth. He answered what he couldn’t at the cliff, at Milo’s demands. 

Emotions on the battlefield constrict the fists. He had to be level-headed. He was being watched. He had to be a Gold Saint. 

Still, his heart cycled over his words in their last confrontation. How little death should have mattered to them by this point.

And at how low Milo’s voice dropped. Like Camus’s shoulders at the memory.

“Milo…”

Distant rumbling and sparks of cosmo. With the Great Root’s destruction, an invasion of the chambers was a matter of time. Someone would enter this chamber soon.

If he was defeated here, he would fail a little sister whose life he had taken. The friend who once had life and hope in his eyes. Lost to cruel blue flames. Impossible to be saved by one’s own strength. His own hands bloodied by his foolish mistake for eternity.

Unacceptable.

Were he not Athena’s Saint, he would have still held himself accountable for Surt’s suffering. He wouldn’t have let Surt abandon himself. He would have warned others about the mountain. He would have shoveled snow piles every day. For years, a quiet downpour of “would have” haunted him in Sanctuary. 

This life gave them both an ending. One that could be shaped for good.

Above that...

Had he failed in his _one_ task, then have the gall to ask companionship from his fellow Scorpio? Or share the deeper feelings in his heart and expect to be heard? To be respected?

_Unacceptable._

Milo, half-dead from their fight, dragged himself to battle. Milo, though spatting at him as an enemy to be destroyed, refused to target his vitals. Milo, against his own Cloth's nature, somehow utilized the power of the divine.

How could he ever look at _himself_ if he failed now?

Camus straightened his back with a deep breath. Dark blue eyes were sharp. Flames beat in his heart. He shook away the tears that streaked his cheeks and whipped his long hair back. Hands balled into fists. In a single blink, he was back in Siberia. Cold and unyielding against freezing winds. 

If Hyoga were here, his parting words would be thrown back at him. A man must finish what he set out to do. He smiled.

Footsteps in the hall. His next opponent. Cosmo would rip through the air. Weaknesses would be exploited. Sentimentality had to be shaved away. Thoughts must be cleared.

Even so, Camus permitted a final dedication to stay.

_Wait for me, Milo. I will prevail and return to you._


	3. Chapter 3

They were done. They had served their purpose to Athena and Odin. They disappeared into golden dust, heading once more to their eternal rest. He had felt a brief burning sensation before vanishing.

Nevertheless, Camus opened his eyes and breathed. Warm sunlight. Blue skies. Green pastures. Cool breezes. Treasures he and the others fought to protect. That he thought he’d never experience again.

_How is this real?_

“So you’re awake...”

He turned his head to the right, and there was Milo. He was sitting with bent knees and back upright. He gazed at Camus with calm blue eyes. 

That must mean the others would be here too. Wherever _here_ was.

Milo shared his side of events. Not that there was much to tell. He woke next to Camus. From what he could gather, the Gold Cloths weren’t with them. No towns nearby from his brief reconnaissance. Just a mountain range and forest further east. His cosmo was present, if not at his peak. He called to the others using cosmo, and no one replied back. So he decided to wait for Camus.

“You, waiting?”  
“...It happens sometimes.”

Camus noted Milo hadn’t said anything about how his leather jacket was draped over him. Or that Milo’s arms had goosebumps from sitting for so long. 

Rational parts of his mind told him this wasn’t the time or the place for sentimentality. Logical observation, yes. They could still be in danger from another threat. This could be a trap.

In spite of that, his mind wandered to his wishes before their final battle. What he wanted to say if given the chance. If they had the time.

Milo could say no, after all. Rightly so. Recent events hadn’t been the kindest to either of them. Circumstances had some say in that, but it would be arrogant to think that excused everything. Hesitation clawed at his throat and feet, threatening to drag him to old habits. To silent assumptions. To perceived truths. To unwilling eyes. Maybe that would have been fine in their last life. Dead or not, feelings were a burden for the mission.

Trying to regain some focus, he mentally addressed his other urgent concern. His cosmo felt restless and loose, like it needed a tuning. If there were enemies lurking nearby, he would need to be razor-sharp. Thankfully, the solution to that dilemma was much more direct. And he had the perfect partner beside him to do it with.

Camus stood up. Jacket in one hand, wiping the grass off his green shirt with the other.

“I want to confirm something.”

He handed the loaned clothing back to his friend. Who was standing and putting it back on until—

“Let’s have a quick match. I want to test this new existence's capabilities.”

Milo tossed his jacket aside. A smirk welcomed the invite.

“Fine. I can’t remember the last time we sparred with no Cloths.”  
“Me neither. Come, Milo!”

Each Saint took a basic stance. Milliseconds later, the first clash between two bare arms cracked the air. Like a flash grenade to the untrained eye. Explosions and blurs bombarded the hill. Shouts and grunts were lost within the flurry. Running feet cut lines through the grass, which rocked to the delayed booms of light speed punches and kicks. 

Skin pummeling skin. Chops, sweeps, and flips. The dance from their early days was so nostalgic.

As he pivoted away from a jump kick, Camus could still see the boy who ran up to him with the shiniest eyes and smile. How this boy wanted to know his name so that he may someday marry him. How quickly he froze that boy because he was _not_ a prize or a girl. How the other Gold Saints had a field day getting the boy out of his ice prison.

Camus hurled a ball of freezing cosmo. He was too slow; Milo was already airborne and charging his counter above him. He swirled rings of icicles around him, swinging his body for a spinning uppercut. Crimson cosmo singed his side as his fist brushed Milo’s foot. Hissing as the ice burned him, Milo twisted midair for a spin kick. Both were knocked on their backs. In seconds, they rolled to their feet.

Dashing under scarlet beams, he slid to blast a stream of ice. Blocking an elbow drop with his forearms, he could still hear when the boy said his name for the first time. When that boy asked him about certain words and phrases in French. When this boy nearly killed him with his so-called clafoutis on his birthday. When that boy came to his bedside and apologized with his hand grasping his. When this boy pointed out the constellations to him to pass the boring evenings in bed.

Camus fired a row of ice shards after evading rapid fire stabs. They were deflected with a swinging backhand. He ducked under the ricochet and formed a pillar of ice in front of him. Unable to stop his jump in time, Milo bashed into it and slammed to the ground with a shout. As if on reflex, Camus winced at the sound of his friend’s pain.

By then, he knew.

_I need to tell him._

Not in a dream or in his thoughts. Or through telepathy. With his own breath and lips. Otherwise, he couldn’t move on.

His cosmo flared in recognition, setting alight a clear fire in his chest. He sensed something else in this state. Another small light within him. Powerful, compassionate, loving. Urging him on. To be true to his heart. He wondered. Could it be…?

Too late to parry Milo’s finger thrust. Down he went, skidding across the hill where they stood.

Groaning, Aquarius stayed flat on his back and covered his eyes with his hands. Whatever dialogue he was having with cosmic entities was finished. He sighed.

Scorpio flipped his index finger up, a streak of cosmo trailing it. One scarlet afterimage later, he was strutting to his friend’s side. He whipped his arms into his jacket and stomped a slender foot next to a prone shoulder.

Camus heard rather than saw the triumph standing over him.

“It appears I won this match, Magician of Water and Ice.”

Pressing his fingers against his forehead, Camus visualized his thoughts like a deck of cards. He shuffled through the possibilities, the reflections, the sentiments. Most he felt were resolved in his past lives. Except for the one constant joker that paired with each of them. Regardless of whatever they went through, regardless of Athena’s light within them, his cosmo couldn’t lie.

_That settles it._

“Move, Milo.”  
“What is it, frustrated by your loss? I’d accept a rematch.”  
“Milo…”

Aquarius’s voice froze the adrenaline in the air. Scorpio moved three steps back. Camus stood up by himself, his back to his friend. Eyes shut to search for the right words. He raised his chin as he spoke.

”We are Athena’s Saints. We fight for love and justice on Earth. Until the birth of the next generation and as long as Athena requires, our souls are bound to our duties. Our time in battle will soon come in this life. It’s our fate as Gold Saints.”

He turned to face Milo, his dark blue eyes sharp.

“I have lived my life for our goddess, for a disciple, for a friendship. To save and protect them. But there’s a love that I must now answer in full. One of my own desires. Selfish, naive, and impossible it may be. Nonetheless—I state this oath.”

Here, Camus placed his hand over his heart.

“This time, no matter what happens, I want to dedicate everything I have to the fist that answers mine. Not just to protect. To walk and fight alongside until we return to our eternal sleep. For as long as Athena wills this heartbeat.“

One beat for thought. 

“Will you accept?”

Camus curled his nails inward. If he was rejected, the slight pressure would help brace him from the cracks and rips he would experience. He hoped.

Milo glowered, his hands on his hips. Then he smiled. Two steps forward. Within attacking distance.

“Impressive. Living up to your name, magician.”  
“Then—”

Lowering his eyes, he leaned forward. Tanned fingers trailed down Camus’s chest and weaved through strands of blue hair, combing each inch at the fingertip. Carrying one of the thicker and longer locks, Milo raised the blue bundle to his lips. Violet hair framed the blue eyes that burned towards Camus’s. 

“Blathering when you already know the answer… That’s not like you.”

Camus smiled back.

“I wanted you to hear it.”

The question mark hummed in Milo’s throat. His thumb rubbed circles in the hair he captured.

“Is that all you wished to say?”  
“Far from it.”

Freeing the prize between his fingertips, Milo crossed his arms and leaned back. His chin raised, his smile wider. 

“What else have you got.”

Like a dare, not a request. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. By the time I was aware—”  
“Sounds like you. Anything else, magician?”

Grateful, and edged with boredom. Understandable by now to both. 

“I need to thank you for helping Hyoga reach his true potential. He’s a wonderful Saint.”  
“You’re impossible. So long ago, and that’s still on your mind?”  
“Too many students deserted. Isaac was lost to us. If one as talented as Hyoga couldn’t excel, I was thinking perhaps I should be the last for this generation. So that no one else would die because of—”

A rough hand yanking his shirt’s neck cut him short. With a scowl, Milo claimed Camus’s lips. Lacking any finesse or curiosity. Just to stop the stabbing of old wounds. He uncurled his fingers in seconds, a softer angle carved into his stone voice.

“You’re a fine master. Never say otherwise.”

His eyebrows raised, Camus traced his bottom lip with his index finger.

“The second time we’ve done that.”  
“The second?”  
“Boi Bumba, Brazil.”

Milo chewed on the words, the location. When it dawned on him, he chuckled. Camus lowered his gaze to one of his earliest missions with Milo. He couldn’t recall the specifics—something only the Pope would value—, but they went to the festival to search for a stray cat in the crowds. Unrelated to their mission objective, yet Milo couldn’t turn a blind eye to the crying girl who claimed to own it.

In the middle of the chase, they bonked heads and fell over one another while diving for the runaway feline. Their lips made the slightest of contact. Milo insisted it was a small sacrifice in the name of justice, sniffling through his bloody nose and helping Camus to his feet. The cat thanked their heroics by swiping at Milo before going to its owner. He had two straight lines across his nose for a week.

They were Gold Saints and children. Pleasant, occasional reminder of who they were. And an introduction to the righteous chord leading to their friendship.

“You count _that_? We were _ten_!”  
“I’m honored you’re the one who gave me my first kiss as a child and as an adult.”

Milo stiffened, and fought with every syllable.

“Camus, you—are you saying—”  
“I said I’d dedicate everything, remember? I won’t break my word.”

They breathed the same breath. Scorpio chuckled from his throat, bowing his head. As close as he was, Aquarius could see through the violet mane. The tips of tanned ears were burning red.

“Athena was right. That’s our goddess for you...”  
“Hmm?”  
“I’ve misjudged. Earlier I said I won the match. But this—,” Milo pounded his chest with his fist, “I concede my defeat.”

Camus waited for their eyes to meet again. He lightly bumped with his forehead, one that Milo returned with equal measure.

“It’s not about winning or losing, Milo. We have much to learn together.”  
“Put action into those words. _Then_ we’ll see if you speak the truth, Camus.”

The tough bent in Milo’s voice had restored its usual clarity. Challenging and strict. Refusing to break to anyone. Underneath it, a hint of playfulness and anticipation that only a familiar ear could hear.

Camus smiled, the warmth in his chest growing. They may have gotten older, but his friend hadn’t changed much. He would not waste this chance.

“Milo.”

He looped his fingers in Milo’s hair and softly tugged towards him. When their lips touched this time, Camus inhaled deep. The scents of loose dirt, smashed grass, salty sweat, worn leather, and Milo. Somehow bittersweet. A fragrance he could only smell when this close. He moaned when Milo’s hands rested around his lower back. Camus filled the gap by moving his arms to wrap around Milo’s back and shoulders.

If one pressed his lips, the other did too. If one opened his mouth, the other let him in. If a tongue prodded, another tongue licked. If the other sucked, then one softly bit. Neither sought to dominate. Experimenting and accepting how to breathe, how to savor at an unhurried pace. Repeating something when there was a gasp or a moan, trying another when the want struck. Needy fingers tangling in each other’s hair.

Camus pulled away, his face flushed and a trail of saliva linking their tongues. Catching his breath, he braved a glance at Milo. Part of him was expecting a smug look or a jeer about being the first to give up. 

Instead, it was the first time he’d seen his friend—his lover as he was.

Reddened cheeks. Eyebrows raised. Not a single sharp line on his face. Blue eyes fixed on him like he was gazing at the universe’s true beauty on an autumn night. Trembling fingers along his spine. Lips wet and parted. Breath hot.

The warmth between them was maddening.

Aquarius buried his face in Milo’s neck and hair. His mind chanted for him to regain his cool, but it was like throwing an ice cube into the sun. Scorpio held him tighter, a slow and shaky breath wisping past his ear. A hand gently cradled the back of his head, a muscled arm squeezed around his waist. He criss-crossed his arms where they were, his nails digging into violet hair and shoulder blades.

“Thank you.”  
“...Yeah.”

In hushed voices.

They would have to regroup with the others, investigate what new purpose they have for this bizarre existence. In all likelihood, they would return to the battlefield. Survival wasn’t a guarantee for either one of them, nor was the longevity of this life. Both were too prideful to turn away from danger, and nothing but perhaps their goddess’s order or death could convince them to stand down.

But what mattered most to them at that moment were the heartbeats that shouldn’t have existed. The miracle Athena bestowed to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you write a love story between two serious-minded guys without losing their toughness? That's the main challenge that I wanted to try at least once. Boy, did I struggle. Pretty sure I failed the shape of my original intentions, but that's okay. Just needed to get it out of my head. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> For anyone wondering why there's no Hades chapter, Soldiers' Soul exists. That's good enough for me.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. Thank you to anyone who leaves comments and kudos too. I don't always reply (I'm shy), but I appreciate the kind words. Wishing everyone safety and happiness.


End file.
